


Inclusion

by KINGOFMODS



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Driving, John pops a boner a couple times tbh, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, well roger is buzzed but does that make any difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KINGOFMODS/pseuds/KINGOFMODS
Summary: It's been nearly half a year since John joined the band but he can't say he's spent time with Roger alone.AKA John's first time smoking weed takes an unexpected turn.





	Inclusion

**Author's Note:**

> HEY... I haven't posted any writing since May and I wanted to at least toss up another one-shot between projects... I can't say I fact-checked every single detail in this fic bc honestly... The world just needs some fucking dealor content and if you want something done you gotta do it yourself. 
> 
> HML on tumblr @kingofmods!!
> 
> I would like to thank @deathonthreelegs on insta for grammar checking this bitch in like 2 seconds... This ones for u bitch <3

"Coming, Rog?” Freddie encouraged, heavy-lidded and propped in the doorway.

John figured that’s what he said, the sounds crashing from within the bar being far louder than he recalled onstage. The walk back from packing the van was exhausting enough.  Brian only stuck around to catch his breath, the first of them to vanish back inside.

John expected Roger to fall in line, only he shrugged Fred off and motioned to the half-finished joint.

“I’m not feeling it yet,” he insisted and the singer huffed in betrayal.

“Don’t come stumbling to me when you can’t see out your eyes,”

“Don’t plan on it.”

Roger always had to have the last word. This time Freddie allowed it, maybe because he was too stoned to care.

The front-man slithered back into the bustling brick building, slapping cold air upon the shivering rhythm section.

Well, John was shivering at least. He could admit to being poorly dressed for the weather, merely sporting a black button up Freddie gifted him.

 Roger donned a coat with fuzzy lining, the absolute vision of a rock star in winter.

After a few seconds of crickets, John suspected Roger to follow suit and retreat with the others.

It didn’t help that he still felt something of an outsider wiggling his way into the band. After half a year or so of being in their company, he knew his place was less of a friend and more like a… newcomer. Not to mention he was the youngest.

Roger kept put, however.

“You don’t smoke?” his raspy voice picked politely at the silence.

John shrugged instinctively before reminding:

“I-Er…Cigarettes usually. Only I’m almost out, y’know,”

“I’m close too,” Roger noted, feeling at his pockets with a free hand. “Ought to stop someplace on the way home,”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” John agreed honestly. He really could use a smoke right now.

Roger’s lip twitched before taking another drag, exhaling a massive cloud into the crisp air.

John eventually remembered that staring was rude and shook off the mesmerized feeling he unconsciously adopted. He had a nasty habit of getting lost when focusing on him.

“You know this is to share right?”  Roger regained his attention by extending the joint to him.

John mentally smacked himself for letting his eyes linger. Of course, someone like Roger would think it’s because of the pot in his hand.

“I-I know,” he almost laughed, a greater sense of anxiety kicking in.

When taking turns earlier John politely refused their kind offers. Only now Roger raised an eyebrow, the small curve of his mouth almost too convincing.

He didn’t move his hand, still waiting. John shook his head, his own lips plagued with a shy smile. 

“C’mon then,” Roger insisted.

“You’re high, Roger,” he reminded.

“Well, I am now.”

John giggled and the drummer further mentioned with indifference. “If you really don’t want to, it’s alright. More for me ‘n all that,”

Roger’s hooded eyes remained unmoving. John couldn’t stare back so closely without feeling wrong. He could only regard Roger’s attractiveness in passing.  Now that they were alone together it made everything so much harder…

He started weighing things out.

It’s not like it would be the first time he reminded himself. Only the first time he got no feeling at all.

With drinking, he could anticipate the outcome and even welcome it. This on the other hand? He only ever heard witness testimony.

Was he really willing to try anything new tonight?...He prayed not to regret this. 

A few seconds more finally convinced John to scrub at his cheek and take the joint between his fingers.

Roger clearly took this as a victory but didn’t celebrate, merely leaning against the stone wall and watching.

“Well,” he eventually guided.

John squinted at him.

“Patience,” he reminded, imitating Brian’s lecturing voice. Roger snorted and he took that moment to celebrate with his first drag.

It wasn’t a great taste but he figured it would be worth it in the end. It was especially worth the way Roger sized him from his peripheral.

“Satisfied?” John exhaled and Roger scoffed.

“It’s gonna take more than that to get you where I am right now,”

John could only assume where else he might be besides the back alley of a bar, however, Roger’s gaze was admittedly bloodshot.

“Alright, alright-” he repeated, taking another hit.

He hated to cough the way he was but the drummer only patted his shoulder in support, sending an electric jolt down his arm.

“Good man,” he praised and John felt a warmth prick at his ears.

They were smoking pot, not defusing a bomb. He didn’t see a point to the kudos. He passed it back to Roger, who seemed to be taking larger hits now as if to show off.

“We get it,” John bravely reminded after an extra long pull. Roger huffed the smoke at his face, John flinching away from the offending cloud.

They both laughed at that before Roger sniffed, slowly passing back the light.

 “Well then, show me how it’s done,” he challenged hoarsely.

By this point, an uncontrollable grin invaded John’s face. He could barely stick the joint between his lips without breaking.

He took the drag but couldn’t hold it long; Roger’s smug and drugged expression driving him straight off the deep end.

One massive cough after another had him stumbling against the wall for leverage. Roger’s cackle accompanied the moment and John could feel the heat flood to his face in embarrassment.

“Fuck,” was all he managed to squeeze out between breaths.

He narrowed the pressure on his back to be Roger’s hand again, patting him. The blonde had a pleasant way of reminding John how touch starved he was.

“You good?”

“I-I’ll be fine,” John promised, voice still sort of wheezy.

Upon regaining some composure he lifted his head, perhaps a little too fast. An intense weightlessness flooded his limbs and suddenly the scene around him appeared scarily intimate.

The shadows splayed across Roger’s face were borderline cinematic. It took a second to realize how close he was stood, hand still hovering over John’s back in caution.

“You sure? I can get you something to drink,” he pushed, hot air whisping from his lips. It made something in John’s stomach twist.

Roger was far more considerate than the others gave him credit for. Even stoned he remained attentive; ready to play nurse at the drop of a hat.

John could hardly handle the attention, the new sense of spaciness allowing his eyes to stay idle on Roger’s lips.

“I’m… I’m fine,” he hesitantly spoke, finally looking away. Words felt new and weird on his tongue.

Even then Roger pushed the beer he’d been drinking into John’s hand.

“Gimme a moment, I’ll be right back,” he suddenly announced and just like that he vanished up the steps back into the sweltering venue.

“Oh-” was all John got to squeeze in before the metal door slammed again. He didn’t remember to avoid the chill air, teeth chattering in surprise.

A few seconds passed of him just looking in that general direction before coming to his senses.

Was he high yet?

Everything felt very weird all of a sudden but… he didn’t know how to tell for certain. All he knew was the crunching snow beneath his feet was abruptly intriguing. He shuffled around, making muddy trails across the pavement until remembering the joint and beer in his hand.

“Oh right,” he voiced despite being alone.

Who is he talking to?

Why is he even thinking about this?

What was he doing again?

Oh, right.

 

Recalling Roger’s lips against the mouth of the bottle, he took a timid sip. There was a childlike satisfaction in knowing they were sharing these things.  As if it meant anything.

He took a couple more drags and most thoughts subsided, taking each task at a time. Everyone else was probably plastered by this point so why shouldn’t he be?

His body was definitely feeling something by the time the door swung back open.  It felt like he hadn’t seen Roger in years when in reality it must’ve been 10 minutes.  
Like a golden vision, the blonde sauntered back down the steps prompting much in John’s chest.

He understood he should greet him, only his tongue felt dry.

“See you’ve been fairing well,” Roger saluted, picking the joint from between his fingers and taking yet another pull.

“Kept you busy in there, didn’t they?” he quizzed back, motioning to the bar.

The drummer hesitated before admitting, “Had to take a leak. That and some birds tried chatting me up,”

“Ah,” John accepted, only realizing Roger turned down talking to girls a moment later. That wasn’t very typical. On a different note, he had his keys on him and another beer.

“You going somewhere?” John further indicated.

 Roger absently eyed his cargo before pinching out the light between his fingers, pocketing it. 

“We are,” he clarified.

Confused, John opened his mouth but wasn’t sure what to say. He shut it seconds after in an ungraceful daze.

Wasn’t pot supposed to relieve anxiety?

He felt ridiculous.

Another wordless second passed and Roger stuffed the second beer into his hand.

“You’re baked,” he deduced.

John accepted the drink but gaped at the accusation. He could hardly muster a comeback.

“Am I reallyyy?” he drawled skeptically, genuinely unsure at first. By the end of the question, he couldn’t stop grinning.

Roger tried not to smile before drawing near.

Disoriented (and more than a little entranced), John allowed the invasion of personal space. He watched widely back at Roger’s calculating look.

“Positively bloodshot,” he announced. “You are definitely gone.”

The both of them cracked at that, John more so out of embarrassment. He could admit everything was funnier after smoking.

 He didn’t let up on giggling until the familiar hand came to the small of his back. He nearly recoiled before realizing what was happening. They were walking now; Roger guiding him back to the van.

When did they start doing that? Not that it mattered, really. Everything remained just as pleasant.

“We’re walking to the van now?” John questioned stupidly.

Roger forced down another smile when affirming:

 “We are,”

The world around them looked so intentional. Under each street lamp, parked cars and little piles of snow resembled illustration.

How could this possibly be reality?

 “How are you feeling?” Roger spurred after a comfortable pause.

“Fantastic,” John confessed enthusiastically “Feels like I’m walking on water y’know? Er- I-I just can’t believe anything,”

“Thought so,” Roger slung his arm up around the bassist’s neck. It fit perfectly there. 

“…How are you feeling?” John mirrored him.

Roger shook his head, eyes cast over night sky.

“I feel practically lost, only I’m not. Does that make sense?”

“Vans right there,” John motioned plainly to its outline in the far lot. 

“I said I _feel_ lost, not I am,”

 John mentally slapped himself for falling prey to the idiotic powers of a marijuana leaf.

“Right, you did… say that...” he trailed off foggily before changing subjects “Where are we headed then?”

“To the van,” Roger reiterated like a smart ass. John gave him an annoyed look and he continued, “Dinner, then probably back to mine if you like?”

Now John _really_ felt ridiculous.

Was he some girl Roger managed to swindle and charm? It certainly felt like it after his pitch of the evening.

Only, he understood why the girls never say no.

“S-Sounds right,” he shivered, a fluttering fiddling with his heart rate. Or was it the pot?

Roger nodded thoughtfully before slowing their pace to a stop. John didn’t quite get the memo until his touch slipped away.

What was going on?

 “Just a minute,” the blonde advised. He was peeling his coat off.

Rational thought abandoned, John stood in bewilderment. Why was Roger undressing?  In the middle of public at that? Should he be following along?

No... No- It became abundantly clear what was happening.

“Here,” Roger urged. The fur lining made it all the more inviting, only he couldn’t accept.

“But then you’ll get cold,” John tipped generously. Roger rolled his eyes at that. 

“Take the stupid coat,” he asserted.

Roger loved cornering him like this didn’t he? And John let him. Flustered, his barely babbled protest went ignored. The bottles were already stolen from his hands and placed on the pavement.

“O-Okay,” was all he sputtered when being helped into the jacket like a child.

Already beautifully warm, he melted into it, tugging it on securely before facing the giver.

“Cheers, really- Thank you,”

Roger nodded, quietly leaning down to retrieve their alcohol. He shoved the bottles back in John’s hold before returning an arm back around his neck.

“S’nothing,” he dismissed and they kept trekking.

Roger wasn’t cold at first. He started to bitch after a while seeing how he kept his shirt unbuttoned.

The van offered little sanctuary even after starting the engine. Roger kicked the heat up as John attempted to strap in.

“Christ,” he mumbled to himself. The buckle was ice cold. He must’ve been fidgeting with the belt for some time because Roger leaned over and did it for him. “Thank you,” he would hate himself later for being more trouble than he already was. That and for enjoying how Roger leaned over him in those few seconds.

The van backed out and started rolling toward an exit. They made it to a stop and John proudly remembered, “The others, they’ve got rides home right?”

 Roger turned to him, eyes still so pale in the dark. He must’ve found the question funny. 

“Those two probably aren’t going home tonight, John, “

He wasn’t sure how to respond besides “Oh… Course,” and they kept driving.

He spent most of the journey specifically watching out the window. It wasn’t too difficult to expect for the moments when Roger would start humming or commenting on other drivers. The drummer himself wasn’t in much shape to be behind the wheel but the road was sparse enough. That isn’t to say there weren’t scary moments… that and John felt they were going 1000 miles an hour.

He didn’t dare critique Roger’s driving, having already witnessed Brian making that mistake once before. He only questioned: “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough,” was his petty response. John shook his head at that and they finally pulled into a diner.

The lot was flooded.  John almost forgot it was a Friday and probably not even midnight.  He checked his watch nervously as Roger snagged a spot to park.

“Aha! Yessss…” he cheered proudly having caught one. John tried to smile along, ignoring the terror in his stomach. Being comfortable around Roger came naturally. He wasn’t sure how the drug might affect his behavior around other people.

Sober people.

“Alright?” his friend suddenly asked.

 John looked up and noticed the engine was off. Roger sat with keys in hand ready to get out.

“Yeah sorry, I just- y’know, the cold. I’m not excited for it,” he lied.

“Coat’s not enough?” Roger teased and John flushed.

“No no!- It is, don’t worry I just-” he spouted and Roger laughed him off, hopping out the van. John falteringly followed, circling around to meet him.

Every step approaching the glass doors made his bravery sink lower. Lots of students and families bustled about the place.

“How many?” a woman at the front desk asked.

“Two,” Roger provided.

John could hardly hear them, numerous loud conversations happening at once. He wavered when Roger started to follow the woman down an aisle.

He wobbled after him, clinging onto his arm for guidance. The drummer didn’t pull away, only shooting a quizzical look from the corner of his eye. Sweat somehow formed on his brow as they took a seat.

He thanked God for the waitress divvying out menus. It would be harder not to stare at Roger’s face now that they had to sit across from one another.

 “I’ll just have water,” his friend sighed, the spitting image of sobriety.  John tried desperately to match that calmness.

“I’ll have that as well… please.”

He (sort of) nailed it and the lady walked into the kitchen.

A few tables away some children were screaming, meanwhile right beside them a couple was arguing.

Perfect relaxing atmosphere.

He tried to drown the world out by diving into the menu with extreme focus. Roger’s unhelping hand flopped over the text, forcing him to look back up. 

“She’s fit,” he nodded to the back where their waitress disappeared. Typical Roger, John would like to think; only it itched his skin.

He didn’t like to give the feeling a name.

 It also didn’t help that reading the menu felt like a whole other universe he was just torn from. He worked hard to seem unbothered when shrugging. Roger nodded at the poor response before leaning over the table slightly.

“Everything still okay?”

“Y-I- Yes, everything is fine,” John rushed, eyes darting about. 

He pursed his lips at that, offering a vague look before going back to his own menu. John was sort of grateful.

The ‘fit’ waitress returned and Roger gave his order.  
 Clearly interested too, she made the conscious act to play with her hair and slap his shoulder with each joke he landed. John didn’t want to watch but found he could hardly read English. His insides rotted by the time it was his turn, heart strained and senses fired.

“I, uh…” he mumbled uncertainly.

“You’re gonna have to speak up, dear,” she pushed.

John’s face reddened instantly, the children screaming at the other table growing louder than before.

“He’ll have what I’m getting, and we’ll take it to go please,” Roger stepped in. The tension in John's shoulders instantly loosened as she picked up their menus.

She slipped off again and he scratched the rosiness from his cheeks, letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, there’s no way we’re staying here longer than needed,” Roger established.

 John subconsciously bowed his head in gratitude, pulling on the coat tighter.

“Thank Christ.”

Roger laughed at that and he managed to smile.

The two hustled back to the van, John keeping the warm food on his lap as they swerved off.

“She took to you, I think,” John daringly mentioned. He was trying to admire the scenery rolling past.

Roger shrugged.

“She was fit… but I prefer brunettes,”

John didn’t dare a glance in his direction, only humming in acknowledgment.

It didn’t take long to Roger’s flat.

“Welcome, I suppose,” he announced with poor pizzazz, tossing his keys someplace. John sat their meals down on the kitchen counter, the animalistic hunger really overcoming him.

Having been overwhelmed in the moment, he didn’t hear what they ordered.  He went to unwrap everything but halted, hands coming to his shoulders.

“Here,” Roger’s voice murmured by his ear, making him freeze up. It took an extra second to gather that he was only helping him out of the coat. John complied and thanked him once again to which Roger hung it on its rack.

“You can thank me by cracking open that other beer.”

John snickered, quickly popping open the fresh drink and sliding it across the counter. He helped himself to finishing the bottle Roger abandoned earlier.

They scarfed their meals, the beer helping wash it all down. Roger had some extra cans in the fridge which they happily broke into.

After tossing most trash in the bin Roger slid a can over for John to finish. He accepted the gift warmly, feeling the buzz start to cross in.

“I’ve got to lie down,” the blonde’s voice drifted as he limped back to the living room. John followed, watching him face plant into the couch.  Single and worn down, it made a springing sound when he flopped against it.

“Careful lying on your stomach like that, you’ll get sick y’know,” John warned dizzily and Roger rolled over with a groan.

Being high and a little intoxicated at the same time was strange and pleasant. He became less mindful of the silences shared between them but even _less_ thoughtful of his reckless gawking.

He finished off the beer and placed it on the coffee table, balance just slightly altered so far. If only he could function regularly like this.

Roger remained laid out on the couch, peering up at John for a minute before scooting to the side.  

“Well,” he hinted.

“Well, what?”

”Look, I’ve made room for you, so take the offer while it’s still here,” he elaborated sternly.

John nodded in delayed understanding, the flushed feeling overcoming him again. He rushed in dusting his clothes off, forcing a poker face when squeezing in right beside him. Their heads leaned against the armrest, the two ogling at the ceiling for a bit.

Time passed and Roger yawned.

“You feeling sleepy?” John quipped.

“Don’t know, really,” he half shrugged, twisting to face him a little better. Their legs grazed and John subconsciously turned to it, shifting to offer more attention.

He could sense something off. Roger going quiet.

“…You alright?” John checked, just to be certain.

After all, it was the least he could do after tonight.

Roger only stared at him, eyes still hooded and bloodshot. He tried all night to keep his eyes to himself but at this point, he was too absorbing.

The pictorial effects of being high only did the blonde favors, making him incapable of turning from his alluring magnetic pull.

Roger eventually shifted on an elbow, his other hand finding its way to John’s wind whipped hair. He held his breath as the man toyed with a strand to play with. 

John couldn’t recall having stared at anyone this long before.

“How much have you had to drink?” the drummer finally spoke. The tone of voice he used… John never heard him sound like that.

It gave him goosebumps.

He only blinked at the new behavior, unsure if it was real. Maybe he’d already fallen asleep without realizing? Roger often guest starred in his dreams anyhow.

“Not enough,” he mocked gently, a helpless grin.  That made the other smile briefly, shooting a spike in his heartbeat.

At that point they were face to face, legs intertwined with Roger‘s fingers smoothing through his hair.  John leaned into the touch blissfully, his own sense of sleepiness sneaking in until a shadow eased over him.

Next thing he knew Roger’s lips were on his,  a hand cradling the side of his face with the lightest touch. A touch that still asked for permission.

After a brief processing period, John reciprocated thoughtlessly.

 He was _certainly_ dreaming by this point.

 He trusted that thought and detached from all shame. It wasn’t hard to bring his hands to Roger’s chest. In fact, it felt easy, as though they were always meant to be there.

It fact, it was always meant to be this way: Their drummer on top of him, hands wandering from his cheek to his sides, kissing him for as long as he could.

Roger pulled back first, still arranged over him. The bassist cracked a tactful eye open, breathing labored and heavy.

With that blonde hair that cascaded around his face like curtains, he was nothing short from beautiful. Something you couldn’t keep your eyes on for too long in fear of getting stuck. Only…something felt off again.

Not in the right way this time.

“God, I’m sorry,” Suddenly Roger was off of him. On his feet and pacing around the living room.

John sat up, dazed and questionably aroused.

“Wh-Y-You don’t have to be-“ he insisted.

“You’re _drunk_ and _high_ _,_ John.” Roger reminded almost angrily. The intensity in his voice made him lean back.

He wasn’t wrong.

 Only John couldn’t see the problem… well, besides the big obvious problem that they shouldn’t have been kissing in the first place. The obvious problem that he should’ve woken up by now.

“Wh…Wh- Okay, but-“

“But what? It’s not right!” he spat.

 John sank deeper into the couch, a serious sense of anxiety lurking over him.

Roger was right.

He was drunk and high and he didn’t know right from wrong.  Roger liked women. A lot. John didn’t mean to interfere or toy with that. What made him think any of this was okay in the first place?

The terror John felt must’ve been evident in his demeanor. Roger rubbed at his face in stress.

 “I didn’t mean it like…” he began softer, “it’s fine if…we… Listen- The point is, I’m not going to take advantage of this situation,”

That made John even more confused. Take advantage?

If Roger somehow wanted him the feeling was completely mutual. There was no ‘taking advantage’ here.

“Roger,” he began but stopped. Even in this state, it was hard to come to terms with it.

He didn’t think he’d ever admit it. He certainly didn’t think he’d be saying it to Roger himself when he woke up this morning, but if there was even an ounce of a chance…

 He was drunk enough to blurt it out.

“You realize that-that I… I want you, right?”

Roger stopped his pacing, still facing away.

John practically squirmed in his seat by the time the blonde turned around, a deathly serious look on his face. That was probably most _definitely_ the wrong thing to say.

Oh god.

Roger was just feeling a little bold after chatting up that waitress earlier. Ended up missing out by taking their lame bassist back to his flat instead. Probably because he felt sorry.

Now John’s just admitted to wanting someone who had no intention of trying anything with him in the first place.

The horror officially settled in, sending his heart straight to the pit of his stomach.

It was time to leave.

“Well, I’m sorry-I’m-I’m just going to…” he stood a little too fast and stumbled before advancing to the exit.

 He just managed to get it open before it was slammed back shut. Hard.

Roger stood there, practically inches away with a hand blocking the door from opening again.

John was cornered quite literally this time. The drummer’s icy eyes flicked over him mercilessly, the power dripping off that glare strong enough to make John’s legs buckle.

 “…Say it again,” Roger’s voice was low.

John swallowed dryly. He couldn’t look back at him.

“I-I’m sorr-“

“Not that,” he cut him off. “I’m serious; if you really mean what you said, say it _again_ ,”

This was killing the bassist. His fear, however, hardly outweighed the still very persistent attraction. He shouldn’t be turned on like he was.

“I…” he began but stopped.

“Look at me,” Roger pleaded.

He hardly could, more than surprised to see the soft edge in the other man’s expression. He sounded serious but easy. Calmer.

“Deaky, I’m not mad. I promise,”

John nodded diffidently, pushing to keep eye contact. Each time it got a little easier and Roger was definitely still stoned himself. It put some weight off his shoulders.

 He took a deep breath, forcing it out slowly:

“You know I… that I… I want you,”

Roger remained unreadable, as though he hadn’t heard anything. The seconds following his confession were a kind of silence he never knew existed.

John hardly anticipated the outcome, not even when Roger’s guard drifted from his posture.

 His shoulders softened and he dropped his hand down to John’s cheek, using the other to grab his waist. He pulled him in close.

“…Wasn’t so hard, was it?” that tone of voice returned to hypnotize him. A whisper incapable of replication.

His lips were all but on him already, each exhale ghosting John’s skin. The proximity mixed with all other influences left the bassist doe-eyed and astonished.

There’d be consequences to this. Consequences of letting Roger pull him into that second kiss, but John didn’t bother dreading them. He wasted no time in dissolving into the firm grip, eyes shut tight.

He accepted the drive of Roger pushing him against the door with a muffled gasp. The drummer probably got a kick out of that, going as far as to slot a thigh between John’s legs.

It just wasn’t fair how effortlessly Roger could send him into this headspace. He tried to give back somehow by sneaking a palm into the blonde’s shirt, fingers grazing his ribs. It seemed to work, eliciting a shudder and more on Roger’s end.

Without an inch of space between them, the blonde managed to rake him closer, hands dragging down his sides and straight to his ass. That made John jump, a little taken aback.

 It was already queer enough that they were two men doing all this; he didn’t think Roger was curious enough to grope him like that. Not that he was complaining.

 He gave a shot at memorizing what he could of the shape and pressure of his body but didn’t get too far, Roger’s leg still shifting at his groin.

 It took everything in him to not whine like a virgin. He came close to giving in just as a muffled click sounded off beside them.

 The door. Someone was coming in.

 Roger sprung off him in nanoseconds, rushing to the couch and acting unsuspicious. John, however, glaciated in place.

The door cracked open and squashed him into the wall beside it.

“Oof! Who’s that? Oh gosh, sorry, John,” Brian’s kind voice apologized. He bent through the door and checked on his bandmate.

 John stood there, speechless and half hard with his hair a mess and his hands folded over his crotch.

“H-How are you Brian?” he mustered up. He could tell Roger wanted to laugh from his lounging place amongst the cushions.

“Close that bloody door before I turn to ice,” He demanded. Brian sneered, obeying with reluctance.

Once fully stepping in, the tall guitarist looked from one to the other, noticeably (but politely!) perplexed. He was partially drunk as well.

“What brings you round at this hour?” Roger tried not to sound annoyed. It wasn’t working.

“Nothing really. It’s just that you’ve driven off with something of mine I think,” he clued in.

It wasn’t uncommon that Brian would drop in randomly since him and Fred lived so close. Roger usually didn’t care, even mentioning where he kept the spare key. There just couldn’t have been a worse time.

“Really?” his pitch rose in complete bafflement. “You could’ve knocked at least,”

“Figured you’d be busy with… company,” Brian apologized, sort of eyeing John. “Just wanted to pick up the van keys for a moment,”

“I still don’t see why this couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” Roger continued to bitch. Brian smiled with complete annoyance.

“Unlike your kit, _my_ instrument can damage from temperature,”

Roger hated admitting Brian was right so naturally, he didn’t; only tossing the keys for him to fumble and drop on the carpet.

“Nice catch,” he taunted.

Brian’s irritated smile didn’t vanish when scooping them up. He only relaxed when addressing John.

“Night John, great show tonight,” he praised with a nod. John drunkenly bowed his head in appreciation, smiling shyly.

“Night, Brian,” he saluted. The guitarist gave Roger a final questioning look before vanishing out the door.

“Cunt,” Roger mumbled, agitation still very present. “He’ll be back with the keys soon.”

John hadn’t moved that entire time. He couldn’t until an arm wrapped around his waist, helping him to the bedroom.

The décor wasn’t anything grand. A mattress on the floor and laundry everywhere. He prayed Roger better prepped it when ladies came over. Even if he was handsome, that didn’t make it any less underwhelming.

“Charming,” he deemed the environment.

“Fuck off,” Roger chuckled, pushing him toward the bed.

John tripped on a pile of shirts before catching himself. He was happy to hear Roger didn’t laugh that time but it was only cause he left the room. Probably to retrieve the van’s keys.

He stood and waited for the drummer’s return, who upon re-entering jeered at him.

“Well then? Get comfortable,” he pressed.

Of course, John hopped to it. He climbed under the covers mechanically, his body only decompressing once settling down.

He didn’t realize how tired he was until then, Roger settling in beside him. They laid just as close as they did on the couch except now it was dark and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He must’ve passed out minutes after, the last sensation he recalled being Roger’s fingers in his hair.

The guilt of dozing off came in the form of sunlight blinding him from the shudders. He was still in his performance clothes all wrapped up in Roger’s duvet alone.

He sat up with a start, his brain fizzing. He tried to piece it all together. The concert happened… then they smoked and got dinner… the flirty waitress and screaming children remained prominent and later Bri appeared like a wizard… but before that…

Roger barged in with two cups of tea.

“Good morning,” he whispered, despite his grand re-entry.

John made a face at him, sleep stricken but undoubtedly happy.

“Morning,” he greeted back, accepting the tea and scooting so Roger could join him.

The sobriety of it took John a couple steps back.  
He wasn’t sure how to behave anymore, just keeping quiet for the most part. Roger asked where he lived and if he lived alone. He affirmed it was just him, a curling excitement in his gut.

He was offered to wash up if he liked and declined. He could’ve accepted but already feared he might overstay his welcome.

The two hobbled tiredly out to the van. Riding with the windows down almost felt cleansing, the morning’s breeze softer than the night’s frigid wind.

Roger needlessly helped him inside with his bass and amp despite John’s insistent dismissals.

“Thanks,” he hated the hopeless smile that so easily jumped out. He crossed his arms, stood in the doorway as Roger carefully laid out his things.

 He typically wouldn’t grant anyone’s permission to touch his bass but… Clearly, the blonde was growing on him dangerously fast. It was only a passing thought after Roger hustled back over, slowing as he approached.

“Anytime,” he invited.

Unsure what to say next, John stood stiffly before remembering he was blocking the exit. He darted out of the way and Roger shook his head, terribly entertained.

He took a few steps to shut the door, closing it with both of them still inside. John didn’t even get to acknowledge his action before Roger fished something from his pocket.

The unfinished joint.

“Where’s the bedroom?” he requested, already cruising around the flat in interest. John raised both eyebrows, stuck by the door again.

“It’s uh… It’s down that hall there,” he motioned vaguely. Roger stopped and watched him over his shoulder.

“You’re not going to show me?”

John swallowed nervously, serious anticipation suffocating him.  He nodded and Roger stood aside, trusting his lead.

He pretended not to see Roger lock the door, looking away when sitting on the bed. The keys clanked down on the bedside table, pot joining them as he wordlessly sat beside him. Their knees grazed as Roger felt around his pockets.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“What is it?”

“I think I’ve left my lighter at home. You got one?”

“Uhh…” John turned to check himself, emptying his own pockets and retrieving his before going completely still.

He hardly noticed the movement from the corner of his eye, only noting Roger’s proximity when getting tied into another kiss.

Everything from last struck him at once, this moment a direct confirmation of that unlikely reality.

His hands drifted to the blonde’s shoulders as calmly as they could. He fell backward, letting Roger crawl over him like they’d done this a million times.

Under such different circumstances, it only felt better. Roger sneaking a couple kisses at John’s jawline made him shrink, trembling under the attention.

He wanted to question what this all meant. Wanted to stop himself and ask if this would only mean trouble moving forward.

“Roger-” he croaked.

Another kiss made him keep quiet. He didn’t fight it for a second. Roger pulled back when crawling to the bedside table, he returned above him with the joint between his lips.

“Roger,” John repeated.

“Hm,” he hummed, flicking some hair from his face.

“You don’t have to settle for… I’m sure you could easily find some girl t-to better take care of-“

“Stop that,”

He seemed so serious. Unmistakable sincerity lined those words and John almost felt guilty for doubting his commitment.

Commitment to whatever ‘this’ was.

John just nodded in agreement, heart swelling in bliss.

“Get on with it then,” Roger motioned to the unlit treat still hanging from his mouth. John clumsily felt around the bed for the lighter.

He lit it with haste and Roger exhaled to the side before lowering down and placing it between John’s lips.

He accepted, only earning flack for going to hold it himself. Roger smacked his hand, taking the joint back from his lips with subtle admiration.

John could see himself getting used to that taste.


End file.
